Rear View

The fog has cleared, cut by truth

" Mistakes in mirror are closer than they may appear"

My hand penned the pastoral hymns of a mislead child

Her tongue penned the innocence of a whore

Then chiseled the cold letters of a grave

These saltines taste like regret

And her eyes are iodine to a self-inflicted wound

So i lower my head somberly

And raise two middle fingers slowly

My mouth smirks

Eyes closed

All words now worth my weight in void

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